


The Thirteenth Use of Dragon’s Blood

by Jadzia7667



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 17:15:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1518743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadzia7667/pseuds/Jadzia7667
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deep undercover, Snape communicates the only way he can. For now.<br/>Originally posted 2/14/2007<br/>The slash is blink and you'll miss it.<br/>Kind of a character study; I was working on Snape's voice. And I was cranky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thirteenth Use of Dragon’s Blood

Severus Snape was arguably the only Slytherin in existence who truly despised the colour green. He hadn’t always. Oh no. When he was young, miserable as he’d been at school, he’d worn his House colours with pride. He’d even fancied that perhaps emerald green made him look a bit less sallow, when he’d been carefree enough to trouble himself with such thoughts.

Then the insufferable Harry Potter had entered Hogwarts, and Severus had learned, over six years, that emerald green wasn’t a warm welcoming colour at all. It was cold. It was hard. It was insolent and defiant. Only once had those green eyes glowed with anything other than utter contempt for him. Severus held the copy of that memory closely inside a place in his mind that could only be opened after the war. He wouldn’t look into another Mirror until the Dark Lord was vanquished.

The only time Severus felt the reality of warmth from Potter’s eyes was when they shot flames of loathing in his general direction. He’d thought for one awful moment that Potter’s eyes would actually incinerate him on that last, horrendous night. He’d thought perhaps what he’d seen in the Mirror had been entirely one sided. It was still possible that this was so.

It had taken several terrifying seconds for him to Apparate after he’d finally dragged that fool Malfoy boy through the wards. Two days later, Draco was dead, and Snape no longer had an Unbreakable Vow hanging over his head. He could not be faulted for failing to interfere in the Dark Lord’s amusements, after all.

Upon reaching Spinner’s End, he’d spelled everything green in the house to a restful shade of blue. He’d only stopped when it dawned on him that having blue grass in his garden would make the locals a bit suspicious. Once his shabby home felt as welcoming as it was likely to, he systematically removed all the mirrors. Best not to dwell in dreams, when his future was so very precarious.

For the next eight months, Snape worked covertly, even more covertly than before Albus’ death. He’d had to bide his time until Minerva figured out how to get into the former Headmaster’s private rooms. Then he’d had to be patient while he waited for her to find the evidence and instructions that had been left for her. Then he had to wait for her to convince Potter of the veracity of what she’d found. 

Then, and only then, could he aid the Order, and by extension, Potter, in their Prophecy fuelled quest. 

~*~*~*~*~

The Dark Lord trusted him, Severus Snape, more than any other. It took only a few well placed pieces of manufactured evidence to ensure that the Dark Lord discovered Peter Pettigrew’s double life as a spy for other side. It took only a few carefully chosen words for the Dark Lord to realize that what Pettigrew feared most was public humiliation. He feared being publicly discovered as the personal lackey to He-Who-Must-Not-Be Named more than he feared the Cruciatus, more than he feared Dementors, more than he feared death at the Dark Lord’s hand. 

A scant four hours later, on an icy February afternoon, Peter Pettigrew was delivered to the Ministry of Magic. He’d had everything he knew about their current operations removed from his mind, of course, but it was of no consequence. Snape had been the one to remove those memories. He’d disposed of them properly. Once he’d made copies to safely store in his own well organized mind.

Three days after that, Sirius Black had been publicly pardoned, and Peter Pettigrew had been sentenced to death. The Dementors he feared were still not under Ministry control, so Wormtail’s last journey would be through the Veil of Death. If Snape were a vindictive man – and he was - he would savor that delicious irony for the rest of his days.

Snape didn’t read the article; the headline was enough to make his stomach roil and his intestines clench. He certainly didn’t look at the brat’s blinding smile that was plastered all over the front page of the Prophet. He didn’t look into those delighted eyes, either. 

He did, however, accept the bezoar and the vial of dark red liquid that was delivered to him the next day by an irritable black owl. He took a moment to renew the glamour charm on the bird, and scribbled a note, demanding that his own, stronger glamour charm be used for communication owls in the future. The instructions were simple enough for anyone to follow. Even Potter could manage it, given the correct reference page. Probably. Snape most certainly did not stroke the black owl’s feathers. Nor did he give her treats. He simply had far too much bacon on his plate at breakfast, and the blasted owl took advantage of him before racing off with his missive.

It did not signify, he told himself, that he’d executed his plan to eliminate Pettigrew on February the fourteenth. He could have waited, but he knew that Pettigrew had information that the Order desperately needed. He’d have done it sooner, to be sure, but it had taken Minerva such a long time to break Albus’ wards. He’d truly thought her more skilled than that. She was more skilled than that. 

It had taken her a very long time to convince Potter not to hunt him down and kill him. 

Severus Snape allowed himself one small twist of his upper lip and one minute lift of his left eyebrow as he pocketed the bezoar and its accompanying vial. Left untouched, the stone would protect him against most poisons. Soaked in dragon’s blood, it would protect him against Veritaserum, should the Dark Lord, or anyone else, ever take a notion to question Severus with it. Dragon’s blood, willingly given, was harder to come by than Basilisk parts. It was even more difficult to convince a dragon to give an entire vial of the stuff, unless one had connections. 

He supposed that Minerva, in her determination to convince Potter of his motivations, loyalties, and intentions, had pulled out the last bit of evidence that Albus had left her. He’d have preferred death to exposure, with regard to that memory, but Albus hadn’t allowed it. Upon consideration, Snape decided that exposing his deepest desire was worthwhile, in order to receive the answer he’d just slipped into his pocket. 

He allowed himself one unguarded thought as he set about preparing his bezoar. 

Happy Valentine’s Day, indeed.

~finis~


End file.
